Locked
by Manga60123
Summary: After the Berlin Wall, Prussia is locked within himself. Can the other nations save him before it's too late? Rated T for 'mild' swearing and implied abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**Locked**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia! If I did, there would be a German Sparkle Party episode!**

**Chapter One: Locked Out**

Soft footsteps can be heard as a figure slowly makes its way down the hall. Gilbert quickly pulls the covers up towards his worried face as fear forces it's way into his eyes: Gottverdammten fear was doing that more often. Not awesome.

The clunk of military boots against the cool wood floors stopped in front of his door. No, this would never be his door. This was not his home, but his prison. Torture chamber. Hell.

Gilbert quickly changed his expression to one of condensation; a smirk painting his chapped lips and a defiant fire blazed in his blood-red eyes. He was Prussia, the awesome one, who had ever so epically won numerous battles. He was strong and tough, and could easily kick this verdammnt Ruskie's ass!

So then; how had he ended up here?

As much as it made him boil over with rage, he knew that the reason he was here was because he was weak. Weaker than the Soviet, who had rushed in and attacked. It made him feel lost, but even more than the ever-growing loneliness in his heart was a feeling called pissed. He was so pissed, he could go around and kick helpless puppies. As long as they were Russian puppies, that is.

Entering the room was Russia, with that bright smile that Gilbert wouldn't mind cracking. That dumb smile made him 10 times more pissed than he had been before. He was gonna have so much fun bugging this guy. Screw consequences! He was bored, it was all this Russian's fault, and he was just standing there like a sitting duck.

Way too easy.

"Hey, Russia!" did his voice always sound this hoarse? "let's play a game, huh?" he tried to smile through his chapped lips, but only succeeded in obtaining a small shoot of pain as his dry lips cracked further.

Russia smiled brightly, rosy cheeks brightening as he exclaimed, "What game? I will play, да?" Prussia inwardly shivered at his enthusiasm. This was the same kind of enthusiasm the large country felt whenever he needed Prussia for his 'entertainment'.

"Let's play a game called-" Gilbert broke off as he kicked his free leg towards Russia's face. The momentum was all off, though, so instead of hitting the desired target, Prussia's leg caused him to lose balance and topple over onto the cement floor. His head hit the ground with a resounding smack.

'Everything is so cold,' thought Prussia, concienceness slowly fading as he felt the damn commie sit on his back and lean in close to whisper something into his ear, pulling off his cross necklace as he did so.

"Да," Ivan giggled as his smile spread wider; too wide, "let's play a game!"

**-Berlin Wall falls down- 1989-**

Germany stood on one side of what used to be the barrier between brothers. The land he had yearned to see; the place that he had missed so dearly: East Germany, Prussia.

Never would Ludwig call his brother the DDR, because his brother was NOT that.

"Gilbert! I'm here; we're all here! You're safe now, so come out!" Ludwig called through the broken wall. Many nations stood behind him and watched as the scared younger brother looked for his older sibling.

That's what it was; despite their appearances, Germany was pretty young for a nation and was treated like an adult at an early age because he looked the part. But, he was still just a kid.

"Gilbert... Gilb... Big Bruder!" Ludwig was frantic now, ready to run into the former land of Prussia.

He was actually prepping to do so when he was stopped by an arm in front of him. Ludwig turned to see the person who was holding him back from his brother, ready to retaliate, when he realized who was giving him the saddened yet stern gaze. His eyes widened.

"Italien..." He trailed off, uncertain about what to say and also slightly intimidated under the Italian's surprisingly hard glare.

"Get ahold of yourself, Beilschmidt! You can't help anyone if you're going on a wild goose chase throughout East Germany! Calm down and think rationally about this."

Germany had turned his head to the ground during Feliciano's speech and, once Italy was finished, whipped it back towards the Italian before him. His eyes felt warmer and he felt shaky, unstable, weak- needless to say, Ludwig felt miserable.

His voice cracked as he whispered, "Aber... Mein bruder... Mein Preußen! I need to get him!"

Feliciano's eyes darkened with a hidden anger that he was currently keeping concealed, although Romano was able to sense his flurry of emotions and thus stood by his side in order to calm him and offer moral support.

Suddenly, a loud howl broke through the anxiety in the air. The scream sounded horribly familiar.

"Please, I need you! Come back, please!" the voice cried, "bitte, bitte, BITTE!"

Everyone grew silent as the one person they were waiting for was pushed through the hole in the wall, falling gracelessly to the ground.

Another figure stepped through the 12 foot tall barrier; his metal boots clunked against the hard ground as his dark aura spiraled around him.

"Russia… Russland! Bitte! Ich liebe dich, Russland! Bitte!" The boy sat on the ground in tatters. He wore a maids outfit, navy-blue dress torn at the hem and apron a dingy cream color. The headband on his head was lacy and worn, speckled with a deep crimson color in places. His black boots were untied and frayed.

The thing that scared the nations the most, though, were his eyes. The normal boisterous sparkle that would normally shine in his eyes was gone, the former Prussian's iris' a dull burgundy. Deep purple rings framed his eyes, displaying his lack of sleep. Tears spilled from his eyes as he looked up at his tormentor, his lips twitching in a forced smile.

Ludwig looked at his long-lost brother from his current spot; Germany was frozen in place, only able to watch as his big brother begged Russia for forgiveness, occasionally slipping into his native tongue. Ludwig breathed in deeply, chocking on the air. Feliciano hit his back, allowing him to breath properly again. Italy Veneciano looked on at the scene in front of him with a pensive expression on his face.

"Izvinite, Пруссия. But, you are leaving now. Farewell," the tall Russian deadpanned before turning around and walking back towards the gaping hole from whenst he came.

Upon reaching it, though, he turned around and smiled widely; although his toothy grin seemed to be more of a menacing smirk as his eyes settled on the ex-nation once more.

"Oh, да, one more thing," he murmured, reaching into his pocket for something until his hand clasped around it with an aha sound. He whisked it out and threw it at the disheveled Prussian, hitting his forehead and falling into his lap, "there you go, no need for that anymore! Hope you had fun, кролик. Hope our game was fun, little Bunny!"

Once Ivan left, Gilbert looked down at the object in his lap and promptly proceeded to begin crying again, screaming out words of prayer to any God listening. He clutched his cross necklace to his chest tightly as tears spilled down his face like a waterfall.

Jolted out of his thoughts, Ludwig raced towards his brother, pushing others out of his way as he approached and, falling on his knees, wrapped his older brother in a tight embrace. They shook heavily, both brought to tears. Shaken out of his own little world, Prussia tilted his head towards the person in front of him. Prussia's sight grew darker as he spoke to someone he hadn't seen in centuries.

"Don't cry, Holy Rome."

**A/N: This is a story that I had in my notes for months, until I finally found the inspiration to finish it! I will add more and hopefully will have it out in 2 weeks at the most! **

**Translations (Please correct if incorrect):**

**Gottverdammten= Goddamned**

**Verdammt= Damned**

**Да= Yes**

**Bruder= Brother**

**Italien= Italy**

**"Aber... Mein bruder... Mein Preußen!"= "But… My brother… My Prussia!"**

**Bitte= Please**

**Russland= Russia**

**Ich liebe dich= I love you**

**"Izvinite, Пруссия."= "Sorry, Prussia."**

**кролик= Bunny**

**Dang, that's a lot of translations. Please stay tunes for more, and hopefully I can add some humor (a la bad touch trio!) I don't think I could successfully write a full depressing story!**

**Review Please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Updates each Sunday!**

**Disclaimer: No Sparkle Party= No own! Just remember that, k?**

**Chapter 2: Locked In**

Both Ludwig and two-thirds of the dubiously named 'Bad Touch Trio' sat on the Beilschmidt living room couch, fidgeting uncomfortably in their seats.

_After Gilbert had said the long-forbidden name, he promptly passed out in Ludwig's arms, thus creating a flurry of chaos. Antonio and Francis raced quickly towards their fallen friend of whom was being crushed by his younger brother's arms. _

_ At the sound of his lost lover's name, Feliciano staggered drunkenly into Lovino's arms, falling onto his chest as his body was racked with sobs. Romano pulled him in tightly as a few sullen tears managed to fall from his eyes at his fratellino's wailing. _

_ Hungary soon joined the duo with Austria in tow. Elizabeta lovingly wiped the tears from her former son-figure's cheeks while Roderich awkwardly patted his back. _

_ On the other side of the spectrum, America was being held back by England on his right and Poland on his left as he struggled to run after the long gone Russian, too overcome with anger to even speak._

_ The Baltics were huddled closely together, reliving the scarring moments in tears as they held a trembling Latvia close to them._

_ Tear-tracks lined Ludwig's face as he cried into his older brother's sleeve. He choked out, "Prussia…!"_

Twiddling his thumbs, Spain was the first one to break the silence.

"So, how are-"

"I'm fine," Germany deadpanned, face devoid of emotion. France decided to instigate a conversation this time.

"Nice weath-"

"There's a blizzard outside."

Spain inhaled deeply before speaking.

"D-"

"No, I don't have any tomatoes."

Furious, Francis stood from his spot, facing Ludwig with his hands on his hips.

"Look here! I know you are very upset right now, but that does not give you the right to treat us like trash! We are only here to help and if you don't want that, then-" Francis was cut off yet again, but this time by Spain.

Antonio heard the sound of shuffling feet approaching and thus jumped towards the two feuding nations to silence them. He placed a hand over both of their mouths and when he got their attention, he put a finger to his lips, effectively shushing them.

It was good timing, too, because as soon as the three reclaimed their seats, none other than Gilbert sulked in, eyes puffy and all cuts and bruises covered in gauze.

Ludwig immediately stood up and began to approach his brother, the latter backing up and tripping over his feet, falling towards the ground. Seeing the impending danger, Germany lunged forward and grabbed his brother's arm tightly and pulled him back to his feet. The younger German had to hold onto his older brother again when he realized that Prussia had gone limp in his hold.

Gilbert's red eyes were glazed over as he stared off into space. A flurry of memories raced through his head, his dearest brother transforming before his eyes into his captor, his torturer, his obsession. He felt every hit, smack, and kick; every single ounce of pain that was dealt to him was resurrected through his baby brother's strong hands. Prussia automatically screamed out, his voice reduced to a raspy squeak.

Germany mentally panicked and, scooping his brother up bridal style, carried him to the couch where Spain and France helped set him down.

All Prussia could see was Russia's violent smile above him. His thoughts were strung together madly and he could only feel empathetic for the sadist who stared back at him. Ivan had told him to beg, so he did.

"Bitte, Ivan, bitte-bitte-bitte!" he rasped out. Gilbert leaned towards the Russian atop him and wrapped his arms around the other's neck as leverage.

Shocked, Ludwig backed up which allowed his big brother to fall back onto the couch, successfully waking him from his stupor.

Gilbert sputtered incoherently for a minute, then promptly sat up from the couch and, pushing through Francis and Antonio, ran back to his room.

The slam of his door reverberated throughout the house. The countries of passion and love glanced at one another quickly, in silent conversation, before swooping the young, shell-shocked Beilschmidt in a tight hug. The boy in question quickly lost his composure as he dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs, shoulders heaving and back hunched over. He hid his face in his hands, salty tears rolling down his burning cheeks.

The two arms around him tightened as two sets of hands gently lifted the German's teary face.

"Don't worry-" one began.

"We will-" cooed the other.

"Fix this!" the two elder nations finished flamboyantly.

Ludwig looked at both of the nations in front of him with a pitiful expression, "Really?" he questioned them, both unsure and positive at the same time.

This was Spain and France, who have been shameless flirts and idiots for as long as Ludwig could remember. Which was a long time. Like, centuries upon centuries of them goofing off and ending up in jails, in dungeons, and in guillotines. Who knew that Renaissance fair had a problem with stripping?

But, these were also the two people closest to Gilbert. They know the most about him; even more than Ludwig even knows, and although it killed a small part of him to accept it, those perverted dolts were the only ones who would be able to save Gilbert from himself.

Germany took a shaky breath, knowing that this was a losing battle because if he said no to them, they would not hesitate to tie him up with little to no clothing on his person while they did what they wanted anyways. That was too much of a hassle and he just wanted his brother to go back to his normal, awesome self. Plus he had enough scarring childhood memories as it was, and didn't need anymore.

"O... Ok. I... Trust you," he spoke slowly, trying to keep his voice steady and calm.

Spain and France nodded exuberantly, soft smiles appearing on their faces.

"Gracias, Ludwig! We will help Prussia feel better!" Spain smiled, while Francis nodded to his friends words.

"Mon ami is right!" France laughed, "when we're done with Gilb, he'll be all smiles and laughs."

A sense of foreboding dawned on Germany at this time, but he shook it off as anxiety. Instead of saying it, he nodded his head in agreement. The two others understood immediately and quickly bid the Beilschmidt a farewell.

* * *

As soon as the door was shut, Germany pressed his back to the wall and slid down to the floor, where he proceeded to pull his knees to his face as he listened to Prussia's guttural sobs.

"Prussia..." he whispered, knowing that for himself, it would be another restless night.

* * *

"So, what do you think we should do for Gilbert? Antonio questioned his French friend, expression cheerful as per usual.

In reply, Francis gave his friend an impish grin while replying, "I have the perfect plan!"

Oblivious as ever to any sort of danger in his companion's expression, Spain gave another bright and innocent beam of his own.

"Well then, let's start planning!" the two clasped each others hands together as they skipped away from the Beilschmidt's residence to prepare the possible cure to their best friend's troubles.

**A/N: Well, it's official. I took my amazingly depressing FF and actually (tried to) slipped some humor in there. Dear Kami-Sama, help me!**

**So France has an idea...**

**OH GOD, THE IMAGES! IT BURNS!**

**…**

**Yeah, this isn't going to turn out well.**

**Or will it? Probably not.**

**Translations:**

**Fratellino= Little Brother**

**Bitte= Please**

**Gracias= Thank You**

**Mon Ami= My Friend**

**Lots o' reviews a day keep the Belarus away! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: What if I told you I owned Hetalia? I would be lying.**

**Chapter 3: Locked Up**

Hungary stood in front of the three men in question, hands on her hips and a deep-set frown on her face.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourselves? France? Spain? Prussia?" the latter kept his head down, silent tears trickling down his face. Face softening, Elizabeta wiped a few lone tears off of Gilbert's cheeks.

After she was done, she turned back to the other two, reassuming her previous pose.

Her glare got Antonio to speak up first, "Um, well… it's actually a funny story, sí, you will find it very funny! So, it all began when Francís said..."

* * *

"Mon ami! This is the best plan I've had in years! It's completely foolproof!" The two men walked up to the Beilschmidt residence front door with a skip in their step.

With the nod of the head, Spain faced the door and slammed his foot onto the center, immediately knocking the door to the ground.

They immediately stormed through the house to the bedroom door of their best friend.

Using the door-opening tactic from earlier, Francis and Antonio entered Prussia's room with a flourish.

Gilbert had been sitting on his bed, immersed in a world of shame and darkness. Ever since 'the incident' with France and Spain, Prussia had been cooped up in his room, only going outside to get food, though even those times were lessening.

When his door fell off its hinges and fell to the floor, Gilbert naturally jumped 10 feet into the air, his butt landing on the carpeted floor.

The ex-nation in question began shaking slightly as his exuberant friends continued with their excited dialogue.

"...And that is why we are going to the most awesome place ever!" France finished.

Gilbert stopped shivering at this and looked up at his two friends uncertainly as he spoke his first normal sentence since he had escaped Russia's hold 2 weeks ago.

"Did you say... A-awesome?" he questioned lightly. His friends eyes lit up as they heard their best friend's whispered words. It wasn't the normal Gilbert yet, but it was a start.

"¡Sí!"

"Oui!"

Both Antonio and Francis answered in their own languages. They smiled broadly as Prussia nodded, and their grins widened when he stood up from his spot on the ground.

"Well then-" France spoke as they stood in formation. Spain finished his sentence, "Let's go! ¡Vamos!"

* * *

"So, what do you think?"

Silence.

The lack of noise from the Prussian worried Francis immensely; usually there would be a hoot of excitement or a huff of annoyance. Both of those were better than the empty feeling around them.

Loud techno music boomed in the background, coming from the building the trio was about to enter. Flashing neon lights from inside the club hit their faces, turning Gilbert's albino-white face a bright red, blue, or yellow as the colors changed rapidly.

"It is called 'Nacht-Sturm', and is the best club in Germany!" Spain laughed, leading his friends through the doors.

Immediately, they saw a large mass of gyrating bodies on the dance-floor. That wasn't for the beginning of the night, though. The Bad Touch Trio always saved dancing for when they were too drunk to care how bad they looked.

The excited men dragged a frowning Gilbert to the bar, where they exuberantly ordered a red wine and a sangria. Prussia simply got a water.

Antonio frowned slightly at Gilbert's lack of alcohol intake, but mentally shrugged it off and instead deciding to enjoy himself.

France, on the other hand, was not so easily distracted.

"Are you alright, Gilb? You didn't order a beer. You always order beer! You say your blood was replaced with beer and alcohol." Gilbert simply shrugged to this. This bothered Francis even more, and this time, he was going to confront Prussia about his worries.

Francis had decided to take his friend to the club because he knew it would always loosen him up whenever he was stressed. He had thought that clubbing would be the solution to Gilbert's current problem as well, but it did not seem to be working at all. Gilbert was just sitting there, sipping on his water every few seconds, head rested on his hands as he sat at the barstool.

He looked really small, France realized, like he hadn't eaten in days. Maybe he hadn't.

France had an epiphany; Francis had no idea what had happened to Gilbert when he was trapped in the Soviet Union as a satellite. What sorts of horrors could have befallen Prussia while under Russia's rule, France didn't know. But, this revelation just made France even more determined to help him. Whatever it took.

France knew what was wrong with Gilbert mentally; of course he did. Everyone knew what had happened to Sweden during the 70's, and had appropriately named it Stockholm Syndrome. The poor Swede had hid out for months after that in shame and embarrassment, but the name stuck. In addition to that and the physical wounds, Prussia was also suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, which just worsened his other issues by giving him flashbacks and making him less aware of his surroundings and the others around him. Both illnesses were working against each other. In other words, Gilbert was majorly screwed.

What Francis didn't know, though, was what Ivan did to his best friend. And Ivan better hope that Francis never found out because if he did, then... Well, Canada would be the largest nation alive once Francis was done with the Russian. He just hoped that he would not have to see Russia outside of World Meetings or else France feared he would not be able to control himself enough to not completely disfigure said Russian's face.

And apparently luck was not on their side that day, because none other than Ivan Braginski walked to the barstool next to the now-fuming Frenchman.

"Привет," said the sinfully cheerful voice. At the sickly-sweet sound, both Spain and France growled under their breath, while trying to constrain their violent thoughts.

When Gilbert heard the sound, though, his head shot up and searched wildly until settling on said Russian.

At the sight of Ivan, Gilbert was sent in a spiral of dark hidden memories.

* * *

_ Ivan battered him, yet Prussia fought strong. He would not and could not lose. The awesome must fight on!_

_ Then came his deterioration. He became weaker and less able to fend of the violent Russian._

_ Russia was harsh and cruel, yet Prussia couldn't help but feel sorry for him; to be stuck in such a childish stage with no one around must be very lonely._

_ Ivan helped Gilbert find an escape from the pain from his physical wounds by causing mental wounds to appear._

_ It hurt, but Gilbert was indebted to Ivan, so he beg for more and Ivan gave him more._

_ Slowly, Gilbert became the dog and Ivan, the master._

* * *

Prussia lept across the bar towards Russia, before being stopped by France and Spain.

France grabbed Prussia's arms and torso, while Spain clutched onto his waist and pulled the Prussian onto his lap. Frustrated, Prussia began to fight the arms around him.

"No! Let go of me! Ivan! Bitte, Ivan! Bitte!" Gilbert screamed over the music as Antonio did his best to keep his friend in place and as far from the Russian as possible in the current situation.

Slightly intoxicated, Francis was unable to keep his rage at his best friend's mishandling under lock and key any longer. He decided that Russia's fat face needed to be taught a lesson, and chose to personally teach it just that. Francis' fist met Ivan's nose, which soon became an all-out brawl. The police came 10 minutes later and decided to break out their brand new tasers on Francis. All 26 of them.

* * *

"…And that's how we ended up here!" Spain finished his tale by spreading his arms out wide to display his and France's prison cell, much like you would a new house.

Turning to Francis, Elizabeta clenched her hands into fists.

"So, let me get this straight. To help Gilbert feel better…you took him…to a STRIP CLUB?"

At this remark, Francis nodded his head happily.

"Yep! It was a magnifique idea, non?" He replied with drunken glee. Hungary face-palmed.

Standing next to Elizabeta was Gilbert, who was deemed guilty of causing any trouble, and became the only member of the trio to be out of the cell.

The Prussian lightly tapped the Hungarian woman's shoulder and pointed to the door leading to the jail's exit. Nodding in understanding, Hungary faced the duo once more.

" I called Lovino and Arthur to come and get you. But, alas, they both said similar things! Francis, dear England wished me to tell you: 'I'm not saving your bloody arse this time, Frog!'"

A look of deep depression crossed the Frenchman's face as he looked down at his hands.

Elizabeta felt sort of bad, but remembering that it was France she was speaking to, the same man who had panty-raided her drawers 5 times in the last month, she quickly got over it.

"And as for you, Antonio, Romano had a lot of things to say to you. Most of it even I don't even want to repeat!" she shivered at the memory, "But basically, he said: 'Tell the idiota tomato-bastard that he's stupido if he thinks I'm gonna bail him out! Oh, and now that he's in jail, I'm going to eat all of his fresh tomatoes!" Spain began to ask a question, but was quickly cut off, "'yes, the ones you just picked this morning.'"

Defeated, Spain slumped down on his cot next to his jail-mate. The two sat in a depressed silence while Elizabeta signed herself and Gilbert out and exited the jail cells, not before the Hungarian could take a picture of the duo in their cell.

France and Spain were uncharacteristically silent for a minute, until the former asked the latter a question.

"Do you think that helped Gilbert any? I mean, we don't even know everything he went through in there!" he questioned, concern heavily laced throughout his tone.

The Spaniard wore a thoughtful expression for a minute and then nodded, "Yes, I think it did help him a bit. The others will probably do their part to help, but in the end it all depends on Gilbert's ability to heal." France mimicked his friend's head movements at this, his face solemn. They grabbed each other's hand and sat there, praying for their friend's recovery.

"Hey bastards! You better be glad I was driving past here!"

A loud voice cut through the deep silence and both jailed nations looked up for the source of the sound.

"Romano!" Antonio beamed, running up to the bars with glee, "you came for me!"

Said Italian only grumbled under his breath as his face grew a deep red.

Stepping into the open from behind Lovino was none other than the short-tempered Brit, Arthur, scowling with his arms crossed.

"Angleterre!" Francis cried with joy leaping from his spot on the bed-like hunk of metal. Seeing the man's glare, Francis changed his joyous stance to one of pompousness.

"Oh, so mon lapin could not stay away for long!"

"Shut your bloody mouth, Frog!" a red-faced England yelled. The Frenchman purposely ignored this.

Sighing with a shrug, Francis sat properly on the cold bed, "That is the power of my charming good looks, I guess!" At this, the Englishman almost retaliated, but, remembering where they were, controlled himself.

England wiped off his casual sweatervest and slacks, replying, "Actually, I decided to be the gentleman I am and help you out. But only this once, mind you!"

This long winded speech only caused France to chuckle as the police officers led him out of the cell to sign out.

While Francis and Arthur had another one of their 'married couple' arguments, Spain pondered what they had spoken about in the cell.

"We don't know what all happened to Prussia in there, but there are people who do know..." he thought to himself.

"Oi, Vecchio! What's with the ugly face?" Snapping him out of his thoughts, Romano stopped in front of his blue Ferrari.

Spain laughed lightly, shaking his head, "It's nothing. Now, let's go!"

* * *

In the car, Elizabeta looked over at the Prussian in her car. When she had first got to the jail, he looked crushed; after the story she was told, she could see why. But, it seemed like he had opened up more and seemed less stressed than he had before.

Knowing what she had to do, Hungary turned the corner and began the long drive.

**A/N: Yay! I finished this two weeks before it's publish date! So... What now? **

**Where is Hungary taking Prussia? I don't know! Actually, I do know, but that's just something people say, right? Right.**

**Translations:**

**Sí= Yes**

**Mon Ami= My Friend**

**Oui= Yes**

**"¡Vamos!"= "Let's go!"**

**'Nacht-Sturm'= 'Night-Storm' (Foreshadowing, eh?)**

**Stockholm Syndrome= Feelings of trust or affection towards a victim's captor. Named after a bank robbery in Stockholme, Sweden.**

**Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder= A severe anxiety disorder that can develop after the threat of death or to one's physical, sexual, or psychological integrity, overwhelming the individual's ability to cope.**

**Привет= Hello**

**Bitte= Please**

**Idiota= Idiot**

**Stupido= Stupid**

**Angleterre= England**

**Mon Lapin= My Rabbit**

**Oi= Hey**

**Vecchio= Old Man**

**Review for your own Sparkle-Party-in-a-Box! Ok, I gotta stop with this German Sparkle Party stuff! Ok, I'm done now.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia! Have you not noticed the lack of adorable food-chibi episode with England being 'forever a-scone'? Black scone of Europe!**

**Chapter 4: Lockdown**

* * *

"We're here!"

Hungary and Prussia got out of Hungary's Opel Astra in unison, entering a frigid area.

Both were fairly used to cold weather, and were unaffected by the prickling feeling of the wind.

Upon reaching the front door, Prussia spun around to look at his long-time friend; the person he had been with when he was the Teutonic Knights and when Hungary had believed that she was a male.

At the questioning look the Prussian in front of her gave her, she simply shrugged her shoulders and, with a smirk, rang the doorbell.

Loud noises were coming from the other side of the door, sounding like a stampede of bulls running toward one red cape. Gilbert looked at Elizabeta, mentally wondering if they should move out of the way. He got his answer quickly.

Five bodies broke through the closed door and slammed head-on into Gilbert, sending them all crashing to the ground. Gilbert cringed as his still-healing wounds were shook, but other than that, he was ok; no dark memories came back to him at the sudden body slam. This, he thought, was an improvement.

The first person to sit up was Denmark, who was seated on top of Prussia's chest.

"Oh, hey man, you're here already? Sweet! Now there will be so much more aweso-ghuh!" The Dane's sentence was ended abruptly as the Norwegian sitting behind him on Gilbert's stomach began choking him with his own tie.

"Matthias, you are very loud and obnoxious," Norway spoke, his voice as monotoned as ever.

"Gah- LET GO OF MY TIE, LUKAS- Gack!" The Dane attempted to argue back, only for Lukas' grip to tighten on the accessory. Lukas' younger brother, Emil, sat next to the dog pile and began to smack Denmark in the face with an emotionless expression on his face.

"Hey! Let me smack him too!" piped a small voice from the Prussian's right leg, where Sealand was currently. His other leg, Prussia noticed, seemed to be spasming uncontrollably.

"S-s-Sealand, I don't t-think that's such a g-g-good idea!" squeaked another high-pitched sound from the fallen Prussian's left leg.

Yet another person ran out the door and saw the scene on the front porch, "Peter, get off of poor Gilbert's leg!" And a weight was lifted.

"Latvia!" screamed who could only be Estonia, as the quaking of Gilbert's leg ceased.

Without so much as a warning, the pressure on Prussia's stomach was gone as well. The man in question slowly got up in a sitting position and was immediately offered nine hands. He took what looked like the strongest out of all of them and stood carefully, to come face to face with the stoic Swede.

He nodded his thanks to Berwald, who grunted in return. Done with that short exchange, Gilbert turned to get a look at the scene before him.

Denmark and Norway had quit their fighting and instead gone towards other people. Norway was now trying to convince an annoyed Icelander to call him 'big brother', Denmark was laughing with Poland, who had arrived earlier. Lithuania stood behind him with uneasiness, due to the Pole's ideas that usually got someone (Lithuania) injured. Estonia and Finland spoke to each other in soft voices while Sealand was attempting to stop Latvia's shaking by holding his shoulders in place, which only led to the ex-WW2 fort being rattled as well.

All in all, it was a rather amusing scene to take in. Gilbert smiled softly at the peaceful chaos that was only possible in a family with strong bonds to one another. It felt warm and comforting to see everyone so at peace with one another.

Hungary had been standing off to the side the whole time, and, upon seeing Prussia's soft expression, knew that she was doing the right thing by leaving him here. She nodded to herself and headed to her car to get the bags Ludwig had given her before she left to the jail. Apparently, he knew that Gilbert needed this way before she had, and had taken the liberty of packing all the necessities for the cold Nordic weather. She still wondered sometimes who was the older of the two. Chuckling lightly, she closed the trunk of the white car

* * *

"Denmark! G't back h're!" Sweden growled, uncharacteristically showing emotion as he chased after the cackling Dane haphazardly.

Denmark had thought it would be a good idea to see what happened if he stole the Swede's glasses, and was now being hunted down by a half-blind, fully angered Berwald.

Everyone else was either laughing their asses off or adding things they wanted to Denmark's will.

Matthias raced through the kitchen doors and Berwald, in a literally blind rage, attempted to run through the door... Only to slam into the wall next to it. He stayed there for a second with the appearance of a splat bug before slowly peeling off of the wall and floating to the ground, much like in one of the animes that his son watched.

This was it; no one could contain their laughter anymore. The room erupted into hysterics, sending all to the ground whilst clutching their stomachs in an attempt to end the painfully hilarity of the situation.

Estonia was laughing so hard he began crying, still recording the collapsed Swede with his camcorder. Sealand and Finland were in shambles on the ground, the latter torn between helping his 'husband' up or laughing more. Needless to say, he chose the second option. Peter, on the other hand, was cracking up, curled in a little ball. Even those who were usually devoid of emotion wore small smiles. Lithuania and Latvia chuckled lightly as Poland giggled out at least a thousand "Like, OMG!"s, while Denmark peeked into the living room from his place in the kitchen and immediately began cackling.

Then, an albino hand was put in front of Berwald's face. Blinking, he grabbed the hand and used it to steady himself as he stood. Then, Sweden stopped and looked at the Prussian, who he realized by the shaking hand and unsteady standing, was stifling a laugh as well, face red with the straining to keep a straight face. Sweden smiled lightly at this.

Sadly, this was the moment that Denmark came from the closed kitchen door, which slammed in Berwald's face and sent him sprawling to the floor once more.

The room erupted into laughter once more, including Prussia, who was giggling lightly. Sweden thought that his pain was worth seeing Prussia return to normal. He was still going to kill Denmark, though.

* * *

_"You are worthless. Not even a country anymore; voted out by your own brother. No one cares, except for me. That is why you are my pet, Кролик." The Russian growled with an eerily childish giggle. He grabbed Gilbert's choke collar and pulled him towards his face, breath smelling of vodka and eyes sparkling in an intoxicated delight. Then, he flung the Prussian at the stone wall._

_"When pets misbehave, they need to be punished, да?" Ivan spoke cheerfully venomous, as his steel-toes boot rested itself on the Prussian's leg. He proceeded to place his weight on said foot, Gilbert screaming out._

* * *

Prussia awoke in a cold sweat, hands clutching the thickly quilted covers for dear life. He looked around him in a panicked daze, sighing in slight relief as he saw the guest room of the Nordic 5 household.

His doorknob began to turn, though, and he held his blankets tighter to his chest in a sudden fear. The door opened to ten faces peering inside his room. When all 20 eyes locked on him, they slowly entered through the door and approached his bedside.

"We heard you screaming from our rooms," spoke Finland first, his voice quiet and calmer than his normal tone. At this, Prussia opened his mouth to apologize for waking them, when another spoke up.

"Don't apologize," Norway interrupted him, uncharacteristically emotional, "we don't mind." Iceland nodded in agreement.

The three Baltic nations and Feliks handed Gilbert four small Gilbird-shaped pillows, each giving him a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. Gilbert smiled back, having become good friends with the quartet during their time in the Soviet house. They had reminded the Prussian of a subdued Bad Touch Trio as they knew everything about each other and got into odd situations together. They had been the small bit of humor that Gilbert got under Ivan's control.

Denmark and Sweden stood next to the bed to lend Prussia comfort. There was a moment of comfortable silence, which was quickly ended by none other than Sealand.

"Look out below!" Peter screamed as he jumped onto the bed, landing next to Gilbert. He wrapped his arms tightly around the surprised albino. What really shocked him was when everyone else climbed in after the micro-nation.

Soon, Prussia was hugged against Sealand, who was in turn curled up with Latvia, the other two Baltics, and Poland. On the other side of Gilbert was Finland, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland. The fact that all ten of them could fit on the bed without it breaking under them was perplexing, as well.

Too curious to not ask, Gilbert said the first full sentence he had in a long time, "How do we all fit?" His voice was quieter and had a softer sound, but they heard it all the same. Prussia had spoken.

"Oh, Sve made it to fit 15 people!" Said a cheerful Tino, "right, Sve?"

"Ah."

"Yeah!" cheered Denmark, "all our beds are this size-" Norway interrupted him.

"So that if anyone has a nightmare or bad memory-"

Iceland finished the thought, "We can all sleep close to each other."

Latvia spoke up, "I-it's n-n-nice to b-b-be by e-everyone." Estonia and Lithuania smiled softly and leant in towards their brother (Raivis had finally convinced them to call each other that).

Gilbert felt his lips curve up at the idea of having a huge group of people to depend on at your weakest. This is how they fell asleep; curled up together in Gilbert's guest bed.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, where am I going with this? I... Have absolutely no idea... I'm thinking, like, 2-ish more chapters...? Yeah, that sounds good.**

**Translations:**

**Кролик= Bunny**

**Да= Yes**

**BTW: If anyone is wondering where Gilbird is, I can always write an bonus chapter for him! You know what? I'm gonna do just that! Wish me luck; I'm gonna need it!**

**Review for a Swede/Dane off! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Do you really think I own Hetalia? You do? Well face the facts, I will never own it! I stared at a wall for 10 hours yesterday because of it. EMO CORNER~!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Lock and Key**

When Gilbert awoke in the morning, the first thing he smelt was the buttery scent of pancakes that can only come from one place...Canada!

He immediately leapt out of bed and raced down the stairs, into the kitchen. Upon entering, he narrowly avoided running smack dab into poor Sweden.

"W'll, s'meone's 'cited," chuckled Berwald. Prussia nodded to him for a second, mouth watering, before turning back to his previous destination.

The long dining table was packed full of nations and stacks of fluffy hotcakes. Peter and Raivis waved to the Prussian while Toris and Feliks seemed to be discussing something important with Lukas and Emil, while Eduard and Tino kept a watchful eye on the younger kids, on the lookout for any pancake thieves (A.K.A, Peter).

Something was missing, though. Something that would make the image of a dysfunctional Nordic family eating a Canadian breakfast become normal.

"WASSUP DUDES!" Oh, yeah, an American! Americans make anything seem normal. Denmark came from behind Alfred with a large grin on his face.

"Now we have the whole Awesome Trio with us!" the Dane whooped, pumping his fist in the air.

From behind him came the normally forgotten/invisible Canadian, Matthew, who whispered, "Just don't do anything stupid, Al." The small hum got America to turn and face his brother, butter-knife and fork in hand and glasses glinting menacingly.

"You say something, broski?" The Canadian in question shook his head rapidly in fear of his brother's acclaimed dark side, which was said to be a glimpse into Hell.

Yet another nation strode into the kitchen, "You better not do anything stupid, you bloody git!" Yelled England as he smacked the back of the American' s head.

"Iggy!" Alfred whined, "Why'd you go and Gibbs-slap me? Not cool man; this ain't NCIS!" Aforementioned Brit face-palmed at this and gave up on trying to drill some sense into the super-power's skull.

He instead turned to his younger brother and began to correct his manners. Peter strongly disagreed with this, though, and proceeded to chew with his mouth wide open, just to spite his older sibling.

While the Kirkland brothers scuffled on the ground, the North American brothers approached Gilbert.

"So, dude," Alfred began, face turned to one of concern, "how are you holding up? You ok?" At this, the Prussian nodded.

Matthew spoke up next, "Because if you're having any troubles, you can come and visit. You're always welcome, you know." Again, Gilbert nodded.

Satisfied, the American let out the breath that he hadn't realized he was holding. Grabbing onto his twin's arm, he proceeded to drag him back to where the pancakes were.

"Now that everything's cool, let's get some pancakes and root beer! The gummy worms were snuck into the mix! Breakfast of Champs!"

"WHAT?"As Matthew was struggling under his brother's superhuman strength, Gilbert laughed lightly at the scene. Everyone was connected to each other in some way, which made everything even more exciting. They were truly a big, happy family.

"You bloody BIT ME! SWEDEN! Peter BIT ME!" Yep, one big, happy family.

* * *

Later that night, Prussia dreamed of his own Germanic family all together in one house. He could just imagine himself with everyone around him.

He pictured his dining room; Roderich and Vash arguing about who-knows-what while Elizabeta and Lili gossiped about the two. Feliciano would shoo Germany out of the kitchen, italian curses heard from inside by none other than Lovino.

Then, he saw two people. Two people who he hadn't expected to see in his family picture.

His lost brother, the Holy Roman Empire, walked into the dining room with a stoic expression on his face. Gilbert stared in disbelief at the young boy before him.

"HRE?" He breathed, as his brother stared back at him, expressionless. Gilbert sharply gasped as he spotted the other person invading his perfect family scene. Ivan Braginski, standing next to his long-lost youngest brother.

"Hello, Пруссия. Your Брат has decided to become one with Mother Russia! Right?" Frantically, Prussia looked to his brother, who, with a solemn look on her face, nodded his head.

Gilbert felt his pseudo-happiness crash around him as he instead became despaired. He got vivid flashbacks of his time with Russia in the soviet union, but in his place was Holy Roman Empire. Each scene was like he was watching a movie in fast-forward. Until he got to one particular memory.

* * *

_Soft footsteps could be heard as a figure slowly makes its way down the hall. Holy Rome held himself closer in fear of what was coming._

_ Holy Roman Empire looked battered and beaten; barely living. His blonde hair was tinted with a deep crimson color which contrasted with his bruised eyes and darkened cuts that sliced across his face. He was a sickly pale of someone who hadn't eaten in days._

_ The clunk of military boots against the cool wood floors stopped in front of the door to the barren room._

_ Holy Rome used his older brother's military tactic of hiding his emotions behind a condescending grin; a small, quivering smirk painting his bruised lips, fear unconcealed in his truthful sky-blue eyes._

_ Entering the room was Ivan Braginski. Holy Roman Empire could not help but shake in fear._

_ "Holy Rome!" Did the Russian's voice always sound so menacing? "let's play a game, да?" Russia smiled brightly, cheeks rosy._

_ "W-what game?" Holy Roman Empire shivered, visibly paling._

_ "The game is called-" Ivan broke off as Holy Rome kicked his free leg towards the Russian's face in an attempt to catch him off guard. Ivan was prepared, though, so instead of hitting the desired target, Russia caught Holy Rome's leg and threw him onto the cement floor. His head hit the ground with a resounding smack._

_ Holy Rome's eyes became glassy as the communist sat on his back and pulled off the cross necklace hidden under his blouse. Ivan leant in close to his ear and whispered, "Let's play, да?"_

* * *

Prussia woke up to silent tears streaming down his face. He pulled the covers closer to him, and rested his head on his knees, breathing slowly and carefully.

His heart was pounding in his skull, and he mulled over what he had just dreamt of.

His dearest young brother was put under Russia's care; that was something that Prussia would not wish on his worst enemy.

Gilbert could see now, that Ivan was not one to simply pity. The Prussian couldn't imagine going back to live with the Russian. Russia was a man who still thought and acted like a child, which was very sad in itself, but could be deadly as the largest country in the world.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was not fully healed yet, but he had finally become unlocked.

* * *

**A/N: D'aw! See, I was actually able to make HRE's cameo relevant! Sort of! Ish! Please help me stop this!**

**One more chapter left! Thank you to all who reviewed! You make my ego rise to Prussian heights! So, thank you!**

**Translations:**

**Gibbs-slap= In the American show NCIS, where the character Gibbs slaps DiNozzo on the back of the head (Yes, semi-obscure tv references get translations too)!**  
**Breakfast of Champs= B.o.C is an unorthodox and unhealthy breakfast fit for a "champion" (Another obscure American reference! Oh, joy!)**  
**Пруссия= Prussia**  
**Брат= Brother**  
**Да= Yes**

**After I finish the final chapter, I'll do a extreme Gilbird one-shot, ok? I'll take that as a yes!**

**Reviews give Prussia awesomeness! Please reviews! *Level Up!***


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. All rights belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. This is very boring. So is life.**

**That was the worst poem ever.**

* * *

**Chapter Six: Unlocked**

_ Gilbert Beilschmidt was not fully healed yet, but he had finally become unlocked._

**- 3 Months Later-**

"Merry Christmas!"

"¡Feliz Navidad!"

"Joyeux Noël!"

"Frohe Weihnachten, Bruder!"

The nations were seated around a large christmas tree (courtesy of America), talking and laughing to each other. A lot had happened that year, and it was nice to put their differences aside on Christmas eve, even for the non-Christian nations.

At one table sat Spain, France, Germany, and Prussia. After the former three had given the Prussian their wishes of good tidings, other nations stood and wished him a merry christmas in their respective languages. By the end, Prussia's jaw looked to be unhinged from his face. The look of disbelief caused an eruption of laughter among the groups of people.

'People really do care about me... They are all like family to me!' Gilbert thought, as tears built up in his eyes.

Ever since the falling of the Berlin Wall, Gilbert cried more often and did not try to hide it anymore. In fact, he had become proud of his tears, calling them courageous and strong. Needless to say, everyone else agreed.

Ludwig reached over and wiped a lone teardrop from his older brother's face, a soft smile on his face. The brother in question mirrored Ludwig's gentle expression before turning back to his two best friends.

"What is it? What did you get me?" The exuberant Prussian bounced on his heels in excitement for the allegedly amazing gift that the Spaniard and Frenchman had gotten him.

"Mon ami, patience is a virtue," France gently chastised him, as a parent would a child. And, like a child would a parent, Prussia ignored him.

"Antonio, please-please-PLEASE tell me?" The Prussian pleaded, tugging on the Spaniard's arm. Spain simply smiled and shook his head. The Prussian huffed and sat back down in his seat with his arms crossed over his chest. Francis and Ludwig simultaneously sighed.

Ludwig stood up and ushered the trio towards the stage, the three oblivious to the fact that they were even moving as a flurry of please 's escaped Gilbert's mouth.

Once they stood onstage, though, France sprung into action, dramatically striking a pose of exasperation, hands on his chest as he spoke in an exaggeratedly annoyed tone, " That is IT! I guess I will HAVE to give it to you NOW!"

You could hear one unanimous smack as all nations face-palmed. This is why no one watches his movies.

Prussia, on the other hand, was just confused. His head tilted to the side as he stared at the Frenchman.

"Hey Francy-pants, what's with the constipated look?" The room erupted into laughter as said Frenchman's face grew 10 shades of red, before he shook it off with a flip of his hair and a shrug of his shoulders.

"Well, we could wait and give you your gift later, oui, Antonio?"

"¡Sí!"

"Nein! Not cool, man!" Gilbert grumbled, irritation on his face. Francis chuckled at this expression, before reassuming his lecturing position from earlier.

"If you would let me finish, you would get your gift faster!" This got the Prussian to shut up, "now, where was I? Oh, oui, I guess we have to give you your gift now, since you won't shut up about it!" At this, the other nations chuckled. Francis was funny, when he wasn't trying to be.

"We wanted to give this to you once we knew that you were better," An uncharacteristically serious look painted Francis' face as he nodded to Antonio, who, in turn, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white box. He handed it to Gilbert, who played with the black ribbon atop it before he turned back to Francis expectantly.

France nodded, appreciating his friend's understanding of the situation.

"13th day of August, 1961. That I

is when Gilbert Beilschmidt was closed off from the world. We did not see him again, until that fated day on the 3rd day of October, 1989. But, Gilbert was battered and beaten; he was still closed off from the world. That was when many of us nations decided to help him out. Thank you to everyone who helped in his recovery. This moment is to celebrate the day we got Gilbert back. The day we gut back Prussia. Open it, please."

With eager fingers, the Prussian tore through both the wrapping paper and the bow at the same time. He was left with a velvety-black case, which he opened slowly. What he saw made his eyes widen as a torrent of memories flooded in his mind.

* * *

_ Everything that had happened either in the wall or outside of it replayed within his head as he remembered every hit thrown at him, every hug given to him, each sharp kick to his side, every small kiss on his cheeks or forehead, each and every time the Russian defiled him, and all the times when someone had made him feel loved and complete. _

* * *

In that box sat his cross necklace, finally returned after 28 years of it being gone from him. His grin turned into a smirk as Spain hooked the neckwear around him.

Once he felt the familiar weight of the cross resting on his chest, he sighed in relief. Finally, he felt as if he was complete.

Opening his bright red eyes, he stood and ran to the front of the stage, pushing an unsuspecting France off the front of the stage towards the crowd, which moved out of the way of the falling Frenchman.

Ignoring the loud cry of 'Mon Dieu' from his friend, Prussia beamed at the crowd in all his Prussian glory, and said the words that everyone had been waiting almost 30 years for.

"Let's start this awesome party, kesesese!"

**-Ende-**

* * *

**A/N: Why? Why did it have to end? WHY?**

**Thank you for all your support! You guys were my motivation to write my first multi-chap fic! And it was so much fun! You know, besides the moments when I was crying in my emo-corner for torturing poor Gilbo!**

**I especially would like to thank FallingDown98, who has reviewed each one of my chapters and filled me up with the ego-juice I need to fuel my chapters! Just for that, I give to you Virtual German Sparkle Party!**

**Also, thank you to Hex the Ninja for leaving me a whole bunches of reviews! I eats them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! And dessert! Yummy reviews make me happy!**

**Thanks to all of the many followers of this story that are reading anxiously; it's a long wait for me too!**

**I will be writing a bonus chapter next for our feathered friend, who ne'er made an appearance in this little sad tale!**

**(P.S. God, I love autocorrect! It has Shakespearean language)!**

**Translations:**

**"¡Feliz Navidad!"= "Merry Christmas!"**

**"Joyeux Noël!"= "Merry Christmas!"**

**"Frohe Weihnachten, Bruder!"= "Merry Christmas, Brother!"**

** Mon Ami= My Friend**

** Oui= Yes**

**"¡Sí!"= Yes**

** "Nein!"= No**

**"Mon Dieu!"= "My God!"**

**-Ende-= -End-**

**Review and I'll give you a free Gilbird! Bribery is the best way to succeed in life! Remember that, children! Mon Dieu, I'll be a bad Maman one day! **

**Bye bye! **

**(Pst! If you liked this story, send me your thoughts/ideas/pancakes! I'll try to answer/write about them!)**


	7. Chapter 65

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I wish I did. Could you buy it for me? Please?**

* * *

**Bonus Chapter : Gilbird's Awesome Journey!**

**-Some time in late September 1989-**

"Here comrade, fresh sunlight!" A tall Russian opened a window and pushed the struggling bird out the window.

'You FUCKER! It's a freaking BLIZZARD!' The bird tweeted angrily at Russia. The Russian smiled and waved at the bird.

'This sucks!' Gilbird chirped, flying to the barred window of his owner's cell. The sight inside sickened him.

Prussia sat on his metal bed, clutching his knees as he stared at the grey wall in front of him. His face was thin and filled with bruises; his lips quirked into a pitiful, twitching smile. He wore a maid's dress that the Russian had forced him into years earlier, which was now tattered and ripped beyond compare.

'That's it! I can't stand to see Gilbert like this! I'm going to get help,' The yellow bird tweeted to himself, before flapping towards the west. He looked back at the soviet house one more time, 'Be strong, Prussia,' before he flew away.

* * *

'Where the HELL am I?' Gilbird flapped around the woods in confusion. He had been flying around the same woods for over an hour, and was lost out of his mind. And hungry. Not the annoying nation with the frying pan, Hungary. Hungry-hungry.

'Where am I?' He asked no one, not expecting an answer. He stopped when he heard a rustling from the trees in front of him. Curious (and not scared at all), he perched himself in a tall tree-branch and looked at the scene before him.

England stood alone in a large garden, full of white rosebushes. He looked to be conducting a large orchestra of floating paintbrushes.

'How the heck did I get into England? I was is verdammt GERMANY! Just an HOUR ago!' Gilbert cawed angrily from his perch.

'All laws of logic and physics are screwed when you are involved with a nation!' spoke a cheerful voice. Gilbird squawked in surprise, feathers ruffles in (not) fear. The bird whipped around to see who had scared him and screeched when he saw a bright-green bunny with wings seated on the branch next to his.

'Wha- bu- and- huh?' Gilbird was dumbfounded at the sight before him.

The rabbit tilted its head in confusion, 'What is it? Do I have carrot in my buck-teeth?' Its tongue stuck out as it tried to rid its mouth of any veggies.

'Y-you're a bunny... In a tree... And you're GREEN! Am I high?' Gilbird placed a wing to the top of his fluffy head to stop the bird-headache that was beginning to pound in his head.

The bunny's nose twitched in anger as it struggled to calm it's quick temper. After all, it did live with England.

'Are you... A species-ist?' It growled furiously. The fowl hopped away quickly in fear.

'Nah, man! That's so unawesome!' He chirped nervously. This seemed to please the rabbit, because it switched back to its happy-go-lucky attitude immediately after hearing that. Gilbird felt his eye twitch. _Bipolar..._

'Oh! You must belong to Prussia! How sweet! But, isn't Prussia in the soviet right now? What are you doing here in England? I'm Flying Mint Bunny, by the way!'

Gilbird stared blankly at it.

'Flying Mint Bunny...?' Said bunny sighed.

'He was mentally two, alright! Besides, I bet your name's not any better!' This shut Gilbird up.

'Narcissistic bastard naming me,' he grumbled to himself. Then he moved back to Flying Mint Bunny, 'I was looking for someone who could help Prussia! He's being tortured by the commie bastard in there!'

Flying Mint Bunny squeaked at the thought, then smiled as an idea came to its mind.

'Follow me! I have an idea!' The two took off, as a question came to Gilbird's mind.

'Hey, are you a boy or a girl?' He asked it. It looked over and nodded.

'Yes!'

* * *

'Seriously, how in the FUCK did we get here?' Gilbird and Flying Mint Bunny were crammed in a tiny cage, dangling over a large bonfire. Well, Gilbird was. Flying Mint Bunny was apparently "invisible because of the fairies", whatever the hell that meant.

On the ground stood Nisse, a short elderly man who seemed to have some sort of anger management issues. Really, a cage? That was just insulting.

'Nisse; Man, let us down! We're really busy and we need to get somewhere quickly and-'

'Maybe,' the mysterious man interrupted Gilbird, 'you should have thought about that before eating my porridge and swearing at me!'

Gilbird shrieked at this, 'First of all, we were flying for a LONG time! Like, a day! And we got attacked by polar bears, somehow, even though we're 10,000 miles from that other-America-pancake guy! I had to awesomely rescue us both-'

'Actually, I-'

'Not now, Minty. So, as I was saying, I awesomely demolished all 6 of them with my pure Prussian skill!'

'There were only 2 bears, th-'

'Shut up, Minze!'

'What?'

'Sh! So, then we came in here, battered and bruised, when we saw this awesome bowl of oatmeal-'

'PORRIDGE!'

Gilbird rolled his eyes, 'Fine, porridge, whatever. Anyways, we were so hungry that we couldn't help ourselves from eating some! Then you came and I got one of those "Oh-shit-this is your's" moments, you know?'

Nisse wore a blank expression.

'Guess not. Anyways, that leads us back here, where we need to be let out and head on our way to save Prussia!' The canary-yellow bird finished, gasping for air.

The elderly man stared at them for a minute, then blew out the flames and unlocked the cage door.

Flying Mint Bunny had sparkles in its eyes, 'You were that touched by our tale that you decided to let us out?'

Nisse deadpanned, 'No, you're just annoying.' Flying Mint Bunny's smile seemed to break as it stopped flying and fell to the ground.

'Thanks, Boss!' Gilbird chirped happily.

'Get out of here!' The old man chased the two animals out. When the door closed, he sighed, 'they should have just told me it was about Prussia.'

**-2 Weeks Later-**

'Finally!' Gilbird cheeped in relief at seeing the familiar house of Gilbert Beilschmidt and his younger brother, Ludwig.

Flying inside through a window, Gilbird could see a sort of meeting going on with Germany, Italy, Japan, France, Spain, America, and England.

"I wonder what they're meeting about," the bird thought to himself. He let out a tweet to announce his arrival.

Francis, Antonio, and Ludwig let out a unanimous "Gilbird!" Said bird cheeped to the sound of his name.

Gilbird, suddenly getting a burst of adrenalin, sped to Ludwig and squawking at him.

'Luddie, we've got a big problem! Huge! Monsterous!' The tall blonde placed his face in his hands before asking where the fowl had been for all this time. Gilbird sighed and began tweeting away.

Throughout the story, Gilbird would flap his wings rapidly while Germany nodded occasionally. The other nations (besides Spain and France) just glanced at each other in confusion.

'And THAT'S what happened,' Gilbird finally finished. By the end of it, Ludwig simply looked shocked.

"So, what's the problem?" Ludwig asked the bird.

Italy glanced over at Japan, "Germany can talk to birds?" He whispered. The Japanese man simply shrugged his shoulders. Westerners sure were weird.

'Did you even LISTEN to me? We have to save Gilbert from the blödmann Ivan!' Gilbird was frantic now.

France had been listening to the conversation for a while, and at that spoke up, saying, "You know Gilbert got back here a week ago, right?"

Gilbird stared at the Frenchman for a span of 5 minutes until he crowed out one word:

'Scheiße!'

* * *

**A/N: D'aw! It's really the end! No more updates for this story (unless I come back later and mass-edit this whole mother#%^*+). BTW, Gilbird is a part-time sailor. Cause he has a mouth like one! *drum-roll; boos at bad joke***

**Okie dokes, so, if ya want to PM me about an idea for another piece (ie: oneshot, multichap, ect...) then message me your ideas! I wants ta know!**

**Translations:**

**Verdammt= Damned**

**Nisse= A myth from Norway; like a Brownie or a Bog; Temperamental, especially when you eat his porridge! He will mess you up!**

**Minze= Mint**

**Blödmann= Dumbass**

**Scheiße= Shit**

**(Ever noticed almost all my translations are swears? Yeah...)**

**#INeedACoolCatchphrase**

**REVIEW, OR THE FAIRIES WILL ERASE YOU! **

**Canadia didn't review... **

**EXACTLY!**


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